


Free Spirit

by Dizzojay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Deathfic, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dizzojay/pseuds/Dizzojay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The weather Channel never forecasted this; a series of freak wind gusts seemingly picking off individuals? Sounds like a case for … no, not the Winchesters, but a blast from their past. Since when have those boys ever needed any encouragement to lend a hand?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Of all the stories I've ever written, the one that has given me the most personal pleasure was 'Wish You Were Here' (also posted here), and I have been considering bringing back an original female character from that story ever since I wrote it. 
> 
> But I wanted, at all costs, to avoid some kind of soppy, romcom-style schmaltz-fest, so I have waited until I could think of a plot with a little more meat on its bones. And I think (I hope) this is it.
> 
> It will be a fair amount of angst and drama, my usual dose of humour and banter, a little bit of hurty comfort, and a dash of romance. It would help if you had read 'Wish You Were Here' beforehand, but I will try to make this so that it can stand alone.
> 
> Warning: Could be interpreted as a death!fic (not the boys) or equally could be interpreted as a happy ending. Guess that depends on whether your glass is half empty or half full!
> 
> Usual rules apply; not canon, no spoilers, rated T for a few naughty words.

Prologue

Two years after 'Wish You Were Here' – Sam's POV

xxxxx

One thing Dean has never been remotely interested in is the weather.

It could be blazing sunshine, a howling gale, six feet of snow or lashing rain, but the job was the job. We'd be out on the hunt, or stuck in some stuffy library or skeevy motel room and Dean didn't care. It made no difference to where we pitched up – I mean, that's what heating and a/c is for, right? It made no difference to what we did.

When you've been cold and muddy and wet as much as we have, you get kinda indifferent to it; it becomes a part of your everyday existence, as much as the air that you breathe. You take it for granted and don't give it a thought.

In fact the only time I ever heard Dean get the slightest bit animated about the weather was when he's ever had to wash mud or road salt off the Impala. Oh yeah, and the time a mini-tornado in Oklahoma dropped a barn door on top of her; he got pretty vocal then.

So, yeah, Dean wasn't exactly one to bother about catching the weather forecast.

But after that awful day a year ago, it all changed.

xxxxx

Now Dean can't wait to be outside, savouring the fresh air.

Whether it be a summer breeze or a winter squall, he loves to feel the wind on his face, and I've become quite used to sitting in the impala with the window wound down, arriving at our destination looking like I've been blown to kingdom come.

Whenever we arrive in a new motel, the window gets opened even before the TV gets turned on.

Sometimes, I swear I can catch a scent on the air. Sometimes it's sweet and fragrant like rose petals, other times it's sharper, fresher; more like limes or pine trees. I don't tell Dean because I know if I can smell it, so can he.

But mostly I'll catch him occasionally, smiling quietly with a faraway look in his eye, letting the breeze ruffle his hair. He loves to watch birds ride the air currents, soaring wild and free; to watch fat white clouds tumbling across a blue sky; to listen to the sound of the wind in the trees, and watch the grass waving and rippling as the wind combs through it.

And I don't disturb him.

xxxxx

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

An unexpected visitor makes an appearance.

One year ago …

xxxxx

Soothed by the thrum of the Impala's engine, Sam relaxed. He sunk down, pressing his aching back against her comforting upholstery and flexed his fingers around her steering wheel as she greedily ate up the miles between their last motel and Bobby's place.

The heater was doing its job admirably, and the warmth of the car's interior together with the rustic strains of a country music show on the radio (driver picks the music after all), was enough to enable Sam to cheerfully ignore the sulky sideways glances and exasperated sighs coming from the other side of the Impala's bench seat.

"I could drive, you know," Dean eventually announced; "I'm not a freakin'cripple. At this speed, Bobby would've died of old age by the time we get there."

"I'm driving at the speed limit," Sam replied airily; "what's the big rush?"

"Speed limits are jus' guidelines," Dean countered testily; "everyone knows that – 'specially out here on these friggin' roads; you can go a week without seein'another damn car," he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest and burrowing down into his seat, the slump of his shoulders and hunched back belying his insistence that he was 'fine'. "You're jus' bein' a pussy," he added for good measure.

Sam shrugged, flexing his stiff neck. After spending several days cooped up in a motel room with Dean and his various hurts, he was pretty much immune to Dean's snarking; every grumble, pout and frown was just water off a ducks back to him now.

He toed the brake, slowing down a fraction just to be annoying.

"Yeah sure you could drive, Dean," he taunted; "because a dislocated shoulder, cracked rib and enough bruising to last a lifetime aren't going to impede your movement at all." He rolled his eyes in exasperation; "and with all those painkillers you've been popping, you must have the reflexes of a panther at the moment."

Satisfied by a minor victory for common-sense, he grinned smugly and ignored Dean's yawn-muffled instruction to 'shut his piehole'.

xxxxx

The previous weeks' hunt had been a messy and painful affair.

The sour-tempered and thoroughly unpleasant poltergeist had fought to the last to prevent his bones from being salted and burned, fought dirty too.

After violently bruising encounters with a couple of tombstones, a tree stump and the cemetary fence, (even now, Sam couldn't explain how he'd managed to get his head stuck in the railings), both Winchesters had emerged from the traumatic encounter very much the worse for wear, and had decided to hunker down in a half decent motel to lick their wounds and rest up for a few days.

That was until Bobby's phone call.

xxxxx

"I know ya restin' up after that fiasco last week," the older man explained apologetically; "but you need to get yer asses over here, there's someone here I really need you to see," he insisted. The sense of urgency in his voice was totally genuine; of that the brothers had no doubt.

"Ya can rest up s'long as you need when ya get here."

Trying to discover who Bobby's mysterious visitor was, what they wanted and what was so earth-shatteringly important about them that the bruised and battered Winchesters had to go hauling their aching asses halfway across the country for, had been a fruitless exercise despite the brothers' best efforts to extract some useful information. "Easier to show ya rather than tell ya," Bobby had replied cryptically, steadfastly giving absolutely nothing away.

xxxxx

It was after about eight, interminably long, hours driving that the Winchesters eventually arrived at Bobby's. Tired, aching and stiff they stumbled, hunched and groaning from the crookedly parked Impala, so exhausted that neither of them even afforded a second glance to the smart silver rental car parked alongside the grimy rust-buckets and forlorn, listing wrecks that ordinarily populated Bobby's yard.

They stepped over the crumbling threshold into Bobby's house, and stood in the doorway, leaning heavily into one another, groaning as the older man pulled them both into a warm hug.

"Good to see ya," he grinned, joyfully slapping Dean's back and eliciting a pained moan; "how ya feelin'?"

"Better 'til you started maulin' me about," Dean grunted, cradling his chest.

Bobby glanced across at Sam with a broad smile; "he's always such a charming patient!"

"Tell me about it;" Sam grinned, nodding in the direction of his brother whose droopy-eyed fatigue was somewhat ruining the effect of the indignant scowl he was trying for.

xxxxx

Bobby turned, beckoning the brothers toward his living room, and smiled as Dean's curiosity finally got the better of him; "so, c'mon Bobby, who's this big cheese you're so keen for us to meet?" he asked; "whoever this dude is, I hope he's brought some friggin' decent beer with him."

"Oh no, no beer for you dude," Sam corrected; "not with all those painkillers; you'll be as high as a kite." He either didn't notice, or chose to ignore Dean flipping him off in response.

Bobby's smile broadened, as he opened the door to the living room, and gestured through to a figure sitting in one of the armchairs who stood rapidly to greet them.

Peering past Bobby into the room, both Winchesters suddenly froze in mute astonishment, their jaws dropping in perfect sychronicity at the familiar face that greeted them.

"Surprise!" The single word was spoken in a sweetly lilting woman's voice; a voice full of affectionate warmth tinged with a tiny hint of nervousness.

It was the sweetest sound the Winchesters had heard for a long time.

xxxxx

Standing helplessly like a pair of dolts in the doorway, it was eventually Sam who managed to find his tongue.

"Ley-leylaani?"

Leylaani had barely had a chance to respond before Dean barged past Sam and Bobby. A mask of conflicting emotions played across his face as he strode across the room and wordlessly gathered her up into a bone-cushing hug.

xxxxx

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Leylaani relaxed into the strong arms that held her tightly. She let her head rest limply against Dean's broad chest, listening to his heartbeat and relishing the reassuring warmth she found there. She let her eyes flutter closed in pure bliss.

With his face pressed into her head, wrecking the neat bun she'd tied her long, black hair into, his breathing deepened; almost as if he was inhaling her scent.

Feeling his hot breath against her scalp, she let herself surrender completely to the love and joy that enveloped her.

"I can't believe it's really you," he murmured quietly pulling her in closer if that were even possible; "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Eventually she wormed her way out of his iron grip and smiled as she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek; "hey Mister Grabby," she grinned; "I want to share myself around!"

Striding over to Sam's outstretched arms she let out a squeak of gleeful surprise as he gathered her in, lifting her a full two feet off the ground, spinning her around in yet another bear hug.

"It's so cool to see you," he laughed; "you're looking gorgeous as usual." He scanned the room glancing at Dean and Bobby as he did; "so much nicer than looking at these two ugly mugs!"

Dean's arms encircled her shoulders from behind, "and he's still a geek as always;" he added, nodding casually at Sam.

Bobby pulled his cap down over his eyes and leaned against the doorframe smiling broadly at the happy reunion.

xxxxx

"So, how the heck have you ended up at Bobby's?" Dean eventually asked, now that the initial hug-filled, breathless excitement of their reunion had settled into the relative calm of face-achingly cheerful smiles all round.

"Oh, I was just working out this way," Leylaani responded airily as she reached up, her nimble fingers attempting to gather in the hair that was escaping from the bun on her head which had all but collapsed under the brothers' enthusiastic attentions.

"I thought, while I was here I'd come and see Bobby, and that if I did, maybe you two might be dropping by." She winked up at Bobby who returned the gesture.

"So what are you doing out here in the boonies of South Dakota?" Dean asked; "you still doing the hospitality thing?"

A brief but loaded pause followed his question, and it was Bobby that eventually broke the silence. "Hey Sam;" he beckoned; "come out here, there's something I wanna show you in – uh - in the barn."

Sam nodded, instantly understanding Bobby's hint and turned, patting Dean on the shoulder as he shot Leylaani a warm smile.

"Back in a sec," he mumbled, closing the door behind him.

Dean watched them go.

"Subtle," he exclaimed, scratching his head as he turned back to the delicate figure in front of him.

Leylaani smiled nervously, and rubbed the back of her neck, dislodging her increasingly unkempt bun even further.

"I'm working in the area," she began tentatively; "because I'm a, um, a hunter."

She gnawed on her lip as she watched warring expressions of confusion and disbelief flicker across Dean's face.

"A hunter?"

"Yes," she replied economically; "a hunter. Like you."

Dean shook his head as if he was trying to clear his thoughts; "No, you can't be; I don' understand."

Leylaani smiled sadly, and turned her back towards Dean, threading her thumb into the waistband of her jeans. As she pulled down the soft denim, Dean saw a familiar tattoo emerge.

His eyes widened in shock.

"But we … when we … I never saw …"

Leylaani took his hand, and led him to sit down in one of Bobby's threadbare, overstuffed armchairs. She perched on the arm of the chair beside him, so that their faces were at a similar level and smiled.

"You never saw it because you were a perfect gentleman, she explained softly; "you knew without asking that it was my first time, and you were discreet and thoughtful and didn't ogle me or maul me about."

Dean swallowed hesitantly and listened silently as Leylaani told him about their all-too-short time together at Mau Loa, the succubus, Bobby's initial fears that Leylaani was the succubus, then the strong bond that developed between her and the older man once he discovered the truth.

"So, you saved my life," Dean reflected absently; "you saved my life, and I didn't even know it."

He pulled in a deep, laboured breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed.

Part of him was horrified that a flower as beautiful and delicate as Leylaani should be doing a job so dangerous and ugly and forsaken as hunting. He reflected on how he'd stopped calling her; how he'd wiped her number from his phone to protect her from the dark and dangerous world that he inhabited, and how it had hurt him so much to do so. Another part of him was euphoric; feeling that she was even more of a kindred spirit than he'd ever imagined, that he didn't have to hide who he was or what he did from her any longer.

Leylaani shrugged; "It was a joint effort," she smiled; "Bobby had worked his butt off researching what he could, but when it came to business, it was only me that could strike the blow."

Dean looked up at her, puzzlement furrowing his brow; "why?"

"Blood of a female virgin," she stated simply; "the only thing that can kill a succubus."

"Oh," Dean murmured absently; staring deep into the chocolate brown eyes that hovered over him; "Oh!"

"As good a hunter as Bobby is," she giggled; "he would have struggled to rustle up a decent stock of that!

Dean grimaced briefly at the mention of Bobby and virginity in the same sentence and paused in thought.

"so when we, you know ..."

"Yep," Leylaani sighed theatrically; "my succubus killing days are over!"

There was an awkward silence for a moment as Dean's poleaxed mind continued to process everything that he'd heard, trying to understand and accept the bombshell that Leylaani had dealt him. It was going to take a little time to sink in; of that he was sure.

xxxxx

"Why didn't you tell me?" he eventually asked.

"Bobby begged me not to," she whispered; "I'm sorry Dean. He so very badly wanted you to have a carefree vacation without having to think about hunts or monsters or any of the crappy stuff that goes with this job."

Dean shook his head with a wry smile; "sappy ol' goat," he grunted.

"He really loves you boys," she continued; "like you were his own flesh and blood."

"I know," Dean replied quietly; "that feeling's mutual."

"Did Sam know?" he added, almost as an afterthought.

Leylaani nodded; "he was there when the succubus left it's host to go to you, there was no way Bobby could have kept it from him." She paused for a moment before continuing; "he agreed with Bobby that you shouldn't find out, he wanted to see you have the vacation you'd always dreamed of too."

"He's such a girl," Dean snorted; "he'll grow ovaries one day, just you wait."

Leylaani playfully slapped him on the arm; "leave poor Sam alone," she scolded, struggling not to laugh.

"But the three of you put yourselves at risk," Dean observed, his face suddenly growing serious; "for me?"

"Dean, they're not just hunters, Sam and Bobby are your family," Leylaani responded; "of course they would put themselves at risk for you. They'd both die for you, and I know perfectly well you would for them."

Dean flinched at her words, before he looked back at her; "but you did too."

Looking intently into her liquid-chocolate eyes, he could see a mist of tears forming; a myriad conflicting emotions flitting across her face as she gazed back at him with a faltering smile.

Time stood still. Long moments marked only by the resounding tick of Bobby's old clock passed until Dean moved first. Pulling Leylaani down onto his lap, he wrapped his arms around her in a deep, loving embrace, closing his mouth over hers. She gave herself entirely to the sensation, sliding her arms across his back, and pouring all the want and longing from over the last year into that moment. A moment neither of them wanted to end.

But the moment did indeed end when Bobby's gruff voice suddenly drifted across the room.

"Jeez boy, let the girl up for air."

xxxxx

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

The aroma of a Bobby-special roast lamb dinner circulated around the table, as four satisfied figures sat in convivial silence around four practically licked-clean plates. A throng of empty beer bottles on the table were joined by a half empty bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, hastily purchased from a nearby gas mart.

"So," Bobby stifled a soft burp and turned to Leylaani; "so, you gonna tell us about this hunt you're on?"

"Well it's certainly an odd one," Leylaani smiled, taking a sip of the wine.

"Ain't they all," Bobby grunted in reply.

She nodded in agreement before responding; "four guys," she began; "all in their forties, all died in similar and very odd circumstances."

"How so?" asked Sam. Leaning forward over the table, he rested his chin on his clasped hands in a position that Dean recognised well as his 'you have my undivided attention' pose.

"The first death was back in Hawaii," Leylaani replied; "a workman, about a month ago. Witnesses claim a freak mini-tornado blew him off the roof he was repairing."

"Well, that's normal," stated Dean dryly.

"Then there was another about a week later, in Southern California; a driver swore that a gust of wind blew the victim in front of her car."

Pursing his lips in thought, Sam glanced across at Dean and Bobby.

"Since then, two other guys, one in Boise Idaho, and the other in some godforsaken little town in Wyoming, killed by freak wind attacks," Leylaani concluded with a tiny shrug.

"You can get tablets for that," Dean grinned, snorting with stifled laughter as Leylaani kicked him under the table.

"Anyway," she continued, making a supreme effort not to laugh at Dean's highly inappropriate joke; "there was a fifth victim, right here in South Dakota, but this guy survived. "

Sam's head canted in interest; "oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she agreed; "I went to see him at the hospital a couple of days ago. He'd been walking his dog, and claims a whirlwind no taller than him lifted him off his feet and threw him into a ravine. He only survived because the river was so high."

"Three puzzled faces regarded her in bemused silence until Dean spoke up."

"Yep," he nodded; "I'd say that's freakin' weird."

"Bizzare, huh?" she shrugged.

"Got any ideas?" Bobby chimed into the conversation.

"Well, yes … and no," she replied hesitantly. "This is going to sound completely cuckoo, but I'm thinking sylphs."

"Sylphs?" Dean repeated; "wow; I haven't got a clue what one of those is."

Sam's face looked equally blank.

"Sylphs?" Bobby queried; "as in air spirits?"

"Yes, Leylaani replied, "except …"

"What?" Bobby looked concerned.

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled, her shoulders slumping in defeated frustration.

"Well, I'm not sure though, because all the lore I've ever read on Sylphs - air spirits - is good," she sighed.

The brothers glanced at each other and shrugged.

"They're generally regarded as a type of faerie, an elemental – a spirit of nature," she began, pausing as Dean's nose wrinkled in disgust.

"We've had dealings with faeries before," he snorted; "fluttery, glowing douchebags, the freakin' lot of 'em," he folded his arms across his chest; "how d'we gank these friggin air ... whateverthehells they are?"

Rolling her eyes, Leylaani continued; "in many cases I'd agree with you, but Sylphs are generally regarded as one of the gentler and more benevolent types of faerie," she explained; "they are, it's said, the children of the west wind, and like the west wind they're mild and temperate. They're most active during the spring and summer, and rest during the winter. On winter days when they do venture out, they bring mild and pleasant weather with them. They carry the birdsong and spread the pollen. It's said their song is a song of life, of freedom and pure joy."

She sat back and reflected on her words.

"These things are about as vanilla as it gets," she announced finally.

The three men glanced at each other quizzically; "why on earth would something like that be attacking and killing people then?" Bobby asked no-one in particular.

"No idea," she replied with a deep sigh; "absolutely no idea."

xxxxx

Sam considered Leylaani's words for a while before speaking up; "any link between the vics?" he asked.

"Apparently yes," she replied; "I did a background check and it seems they all went to the same school.

Given that they're all a similar age, they must have all been there around a similar time; perhaps even knew each other."

"What school," Dean asked.

"North Ridge High," she replied; "it's about six hours from here."

Dean placed his hand on hers; "okay, we'll go check it out tomorrow."

"You're doin' nothing," Bobby's gruff voice spoke up; "you're doin' nothing but resting, princess."

Sam sat back, hiding his grin behind a raised hand.

"Oh, bite me," Dean snorted; "nothin' wrong with me." He glanced round at three pairs of eyes fixed on him.

"WHAT?" he snapped; "I don't care how freakin' nirvana these things are, she's not facin' those smartass airy-fairy dicks without some decent backup."

Leylaani grinned, playfully punching Dean in the bicep; "hey, Captain Caveman, I think I can manage a few wisps of warm air." She pointed to herself; "hunter remember?"

Dean stared at her, distinctly unreassured.

"Anyway, Bobby's right," she continued; "I heard all about your misadventures in the last week, and seriously, d'y think I didn't notice you wincing and groaning when you hugged me earlier?"

"It's nothing," Dean huffed, waving his hand dismissively; "jus' a few bumps and bruises."

"Hmmmm … that's not what I heard," she replied; "about both of you," she added staring pointedly at Sam whose amused smirk suddenly dropped."

Both brothers turned and glared at Bobby who looked unrepentant.

"Look, you boys are both beaten up, you both need to rest," Bobby announced on the back of a long sigh; "but if I'm honest, I'm not keen on the idea of Leylaani facin' those damn faeries alone," he was quick to add.

"Why don't all three of you take it easy for a coupl'a days?" he cajoled; "the school'll still be there, an' you'll be fresher and fitter. In the meantime, we can check out a few more details."

He paused; "what'dy say Leylaani?"

"How can I refuse?" she smiled; "I could hardly come on a social visit to three hunters and not expect them to muscle in on my job!"

"And you're right," she added; "won't do any harm to look into this a little more; I hear you've got a good library in town."

Bobby smiled; "yup. Got an ever better one here," he added smugly.

xxxxx

Leylaani watched sympathetically as Dean rose to get up from the table and stifled a gasp. Slyly wrapping an arm around his chest, he tried to look as casual as possible, and failed parlously.

Reaching out, she gently pulled him back down into his seat.

"I can help," she said softly.

Dean cocked his head curiously.

Leaning in toward him, she placed her hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear; "remember that massage at Mau Loa?"

As Dean's eyes lit up with glee, both Sam and Bobby leapt up from the table as if it had suddenly developed a communicable disease.

"I got dishes to do," snorted Bobby, feverishly gathering up the used crockery.

"Yeah, I got to … uh … just, yeah," grunted Sam, absently scratching the back of his neck; "need a hand?"

He paused for a moment

"Hey Bobby, you got that spare blanket – looks like I'm on the couch tonight."

xxxxx

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Dean led Leylaani into the bedroom that was usually the brothers' space when they came to stay at Bobby's, pausing as she quietly closed the door behind her. She turned back to him and pulled in a deep breath as he began to pull off his T shirt.

A large part of one side of his body was a mass of mottled, colourful bruising. She observed that the forced stiffness with which he moved, together with the timid crookedness of his stance as he eased himself out of his shirt was a painfully clear signal that the lingering damage from his dislocated shoulder was far from healed.

It was a sight that made her stomach clench, and not in a good way.

Sitting on the bed, she smiled sadly and silently motioned for Dean to sit beside her. An unspoken understanding passed between the two as she gently ran a fingertip across the bruising, her lips pulling together in a tight grimace, holding back words that she was scared to say.

"I hate this job," she eventually whispered, looking up at Dean's face though moist eyes; "I hate what it does to us. I hate that we've all suffered in the past because of these awful supernatural monsters".

She took a deep breath; "you shouldn't have to endure this. You shouldn't have to live with this pain. You don't deserve this existence; none of us do. We don't deserve any of the strife that this damn job delivers us."

He pulled her into a gentle hug, resting his chin on the top of her head as she relaxed against his rock-solid presence. He wante to ask her about her cryptic words; of how she was forced into hunting, but his trail of thought was interrupted as Leylaani spoke again.

"Say we won't always live like this," she murmured quietly, her voice muffled into his shoulder; "say one day we'll be free, like those sylphs; free of our past, free of this job - as free as the west wind."

"One day we will be free, you'll see," Dean reassured non-committally, his fingertips absently combing through the long black hair that cascaded across her shoulders."

The moments ticked by as they sat, silently supporting and comforting each other. Moments that were something delicate and precious that Dean could have savoured for ever, packed into a box and treasured for the rest of his life. He couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment when he sensed the moment that Leylaani snapped back into herself.

Squirming out from his embrace, she sat up abruptly, swiping the heel of her hand across her wet cheeks and clearing her throat irritably as if she was angry with herself for such a show of vulnerability, however brief.

xxxxx

"Take your jeans off," she suddenly said, a faint smile lifting her face.

Dean stared at her, a mixture of surprise and eagerness painted across his face. "Excuse me?" He replied hesitantly; "wow – is that what classes as foreplay for the 21st century woman? I guess I've been doin' it wrong …"

Her smile broadened into a deliciously naughty grin as she planted her hands on her hips.

"Stop your blathering," she snorted, "drop 'em, then get on the bed, on your front."

"Woah, kinky," Dean grinned, quirking an eyebrow suggestively as he fumbled with the buttons at his fly, "long live feminism - that's what I say," he teased; "I like a chick who takes control."

"Just be thankful I'm too nice to smack someone who's been used as a punchbag," she laughed, waiting until Dean had divested himself of the grubby denim and clumsily manouevred himself into a prone position across the middle of the bed.

"Comfortable?" She asked, smiling as her eyes scanned the length of his body, lingering over the soft cotton-clad curve of his butt.

"Yeah," he grunted; "hey, don't you go starin' at my ass. Not 'less you're prepared to let me do the same to you!"

"Can it," she giggled, giving said ass a playful slap; "you need to learn how to relax – it'll help you heal up."

" 'M relaxed," Dean snuffled indignantly into the pillow.

"Shut up and enjoy," she grinned.

xxxxx

Loading her hands with moisturiser, she rubbed it between her palms to warm it then brought both her slick hands to bear against his shoulder blades, working firm but gentle circles into his warm skin with the heel of her hand. She smiled as she felt a barely audible moan of bliss rumbling deep in his chest. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought it was a purr.

Working quietly and carefully, she swept her hands over the expanse of Dean's back, working a comforting rhythm of gentle caresses, both feather-light over the injured area, and reassuringly firm everywhere else. Kneading the tense muscles along his shoulders, she slowly circled his nape with the pad of her thumb, before working her way down the hard, undulating ridge of his spine with strong, busy fingers.

Beneath her exquisite touch Dean was slowly dissolving into boneless goo. Those soft, warm hands that were roaming about his back and shoulders, working the soothing lotion into his skin were transporting him into languid, mindless bliss. He'd totally lost control of his limbs; he wouldn't have been able to move if he wanted to. Bobby's house could burn down and he'd still be lying here, inert and helpless like a stain on the mattress. Didn't even care that he reeked of lavender or roses or whatever other flowery stink she was covering him in; there was no point in having pride when you were an incoherent puddle of groaning ecstacy.

Those wicked, relentless fingertips gradually worked their way up the muscular ridges of the back of his neck into his scalp, and he knew then that he was done for. That was it, the end.

His eyelashes had become leaden; even with his face mashed into the pillow, their increasing weight was dragging his eyelids down as wave after wave of restful bliss gradually engulfed him, drowning him slowly in pure contentment.

He fought manfully to stay alert; he'd had all manner of gloriously naughty, illicit and quite possibly illegal (in some states) ideas for tonight, but every single one of them required staying awake. This totally wasn't in Dean's game plan. He'd tried tugging at some of the little hairs that coated his forearms to shock himself back into wakefulness, but his clumsy fingers had turned into molasses just like the rest of him, he tried reciting the lyrics to a favourite song in his head, but darn it, his brain had left the building.

He tried to tell Leylaani that this was wonderful and therapeutic and deliciously relaxing, and that he very much would like to return the compliment, and so would she please mind finding a spatula and scraping him up off the bed so that he could give her a demonstration of how clever his own hands were – that is, when he could actually make them work again.

What actually came out of his mouth was "gnuhhhh …"

xxxxx

But Leylaani had her own agenda. Dean badly needed to heal, and he needed to rest. Despite her own desires, she would see to it that he did both, whether he wanted to or not. The great dork would do neither if left to his own devices and so she decided that she would employ her fingertips of doom to devastating effect to see the job finished.

Standing back, she smiled when a soft snore rose up from the bed to greet her. She knew her work was done.

Wiping her hands on her jeans she stepped out of them, dropping them into a loosely folded heap beside the room's other bed. Her T shirt, quickly and efficiently tugged off over her head, went the same way. As she pulled back the second bed's comforter, she paused.

No. This wasn't right.

She replaced the comforter and quietly climbed into the bed alongside Dean's sprawled form, manoeuvring his stray arm close into his side and burrowing her head into the nook of his throat. She slotted in tight alongside him, like the missing piece of a puzzle making the picture complete.

Pressed close against his warm skin, she pulled the comforter up over them, and slipped her arm across his back, losing herself in its gently soporific rise and fall.

Yes. This was how it should be.

It was barely moments before she followed him into delicious oblivion.

xxxxx

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Leylaani's eyes fluttered open to hazy, mid-morning sunlight. She lay, blinking back sleep for a moment watching dust motes drifting lazily across the soft rays that bathed the room. It was only as she tried to roll over and stretch that she realised she was tightly wrapped in a warm cocoon of limbs, her back pulled hard against the firm, warm wall of Dean's chest.

She had somehow managed to become the little spoon.

Surrendering meekly to her situation, she nestled back into the solid presence behind her. Stretching was over-rated anyway.

Allowing her eyes to drift closed, she left her remaining senses to savour the closeness of Dean's presence. Listening to the soft huff of warm, moist breath into her neck, she relaxed against hot bare skin pressed up to her back, as silkily smooth as the tiny camisole she was wearing; a stark contrast to the gravelly scratch of his stubbled chin on her shoulder and the hard, corded muscles of his forearms. She inhaled deeply of his scent; a faint spicy musk, intoxicating and heady, and undeniably masculine, which mingled strangely with the sweetly floral fragrance of lavender and roses from her loving attentions the previous evening.

If this was an assault on the senses, then she was a willing victim.

xxxxx

It was a few minutes later that she felt Dean shift with a soft groan; there was a flutter of eyelashes against her skin as the face mashed into her shoulder moved.

"Mornin'," he muttered; voice cracking, still rough from the deepest of sleeps.

"Hey Dean," she smiled, awkwardly reaching back from within his vice-like grip and trailing her fingertips along his prickly jawline.

"That was a mean trick you pulled on me last night," he grumbled, the words dissolving into an unsuccessfully stifled yawn.

Leylaani snorted with laughter, craning her head round to try to see if Dean's face looked as sulky as it sounded.

"Feel better for it though, don't you," she chuckled.

"No," he grunted defiantly into her neck.

"Liar," she giggled, squirming as Dean's arms tightened their grip, reeling her in even closer against him if that were even possible.

"Nope," he muttered, his voice muffled against the back of her shoulder; "don' feel better at all after all that stupid sleep, not at all."

Smiling wickedly, Leylaani grasped the hand that held her close, and leaned down to kiss the knuckles across the top of it.

"Well, how about that," she asked solemnly; "does that make you feel any better?"

Dean hesitated as if in thought for a moment, then gave a derisory grunt which seemed to indicate a negative.

She pulled his hand further toward her and turned it over, placing a gentle kiss to the soft skin over the pulse point of his wrist.

"How about that?"

Dean made a big show of thinking long and hard; "nope," he eventually announced; "not even a little bit."

With immense effort, Leylaani wriggled round in the arms that held her fast; how the heck did he manage to wrap her up so tightly without her even noticing? Did he have a spare pair of arms that she'd never noticed before?

Eventually she found herself facing him, the tip of her nose squashed against his shoulder. From that vantage point, she laid a soft kiss over the softly prominent outline of his collarbone.

"That, then?" She asked, her eyes flicking upwards towards Dean's face without actually lifting her lips from the skin beneath them.

Dean's eyes remained locked onto hers as he wrinkled his nose in distain and shook his head.

She chuckled quietly, and shifted slightly, ghosting a trail of featherlight kisses across his chest to the hollow of his throat where she lingered, her lips and tongue savouring the faintly salty essence of that little nook.

"What about that," she whispered, the tip of her tongue enticingly moistening her lips.

"Maybe," he murmured with a faint shrug, tilting his chin down toward her; his eyes latched unblinking onto her face.

She stretched up and touched his lips with hers. For the first time he closed his eyes, losing himself in that small gesture.

"That?" She murmured against the corner of his mouth, feeling it quirk as he fought not to smile.

A short silence fell between them.

"It's a start," Dean smirked, suddenly rolling them both over and letting out an evil chuckle as Leylaani yelped gleefully in shocked delight.

He tugged the comforter up over their two entwined bodies; "now, where were we?" he grinned.

xxxxx

Sam and Bobby sat at the kitchen table enjoying a strong coffee and a companionable silence; Sam was busy scanning a selection of Bobby's books, seeking out anything that might be even slightly faerie-related, while Bobby sat perusing his laptop. Behind them, a news programme playing out on Bobby's old TV went ignored as it spoke of murder, unemployment, fat bankers and cold fronts spreading from the east.

Sam and Bobby had their own otherworldly douchebags to deal with without concerning themselves with human ones too.

"So d'y reckon we'll see love's young dream before sundown?" Bobby mused absently, briefly glancing up from his work.

"I don't even wanna think about it," snorted Sam letting out a wry grin as a floorboard creaked conspiratorially above him.

Bobby smirked into his coffee mug; "I was jus' wonderin' whether there was gonna be any danger of any help anytime soon, or whether we're goin' this job alone."

Sam smiled helplessly. He couldn't answer that question, and he sure as hell wasn't going anywhere near the upstairs of the house to ask.

But making coffee, now that he could do. He stood slowly, picking up Bobby's empty mug and stretching the kinks out of his aching back. Bobby's threadbare couch with its saggy springs and understuffed cushions wouldn't make for a decent night's sleep for anyone. For a man of Sam's dimensions, it was right up there with the iron maiden for providing a comfortable night's accommodation.

He spooned piles of grainy brown granules into their mugs and stood, leaning languidly against the kitchen counter as he waited for the kettle to boil.

He watched Bobby.

The older man was onto something, Sam was sure of it. His body language had suddenly changed. He was tense, alert; totally absorbed in the words he was reading.

Sam, therefore, wasn't in the slightest bit surprised when Bobby suddenly blurted out; "well, I'll be …"

He turned to the younger man; "Sam, would ya have a look at this!"

Carefully filling the mugs, Sam, together with well-earned drinks, made his way over to Bobby when the kitchen door swung open.

"Well, would you have a look at that!" Sam snorted, nodding toward the dishevelled figure that strode into the room.

xxxxx

Dean stood, absently rearranging his groin through his sweatpants and stared vacantly back at the two men. His flushed face was framed by a shock of tousled hair that appeared to be pointing in just about every direction on a compass except, possibly, the one he would want it to.

A dreamy smile, deserving of the cat that got the cream, played across his slightly swollen, beestung lips as he wandered toward Sam, wordlessly snatching one of the coffee mugs out of his hand.

"Hey bro," Sam sniggered; "where's Leylaani?"

"She's in the shower," mumbled Dean as he hastily swallowed a mouthful of his purloined coffee. "What's goin' on?" He added, almost as an afterthought.

Sam turned back to Bobby and the laptop; "oh Bobby an' me are just checking this weirdo job, and it looks like Bobb …"

He paused, sniffing bloodhound-style at the air around him.

"What the hell?" Sam mused; "what's that smell? …. Lavender … roses?

Dean rapidly set the mug down on the table, his rosy cheeks suddenly burning crimson.

"Goin' to see if she's finished in the shower," he mumbled as he turned tail and disappeared upstairs.

xxxxx

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

Eventually all four figures had crowded around Bobby's kitchen table. Sam jealously guarded his fresh mug of coffee while Leylaani settled herself next to Dean, as close as it was possible to be without actually sitting on his lap.

Dean lost himself in the soft fragrance that surrounded her. It was fresh and clean like summer rain. It suited her perfectly.

"So, Bobby, what you got?" Sam asked.

"Well," Bobby began; "I been checking out anything I could find about the teachers at that school, the ones who might have been there when our vics were there, and the ones there today, nothing about any of them stand out."

A collective sigh rose from the table.

"Then I checked out some of the students who were there at that time; again, drew a blank," he shrugged; "nothing remotely interesting about any of the ones I looked at."

He paused for a moment, lifting his coffee mug to his mouth; "but then I saw something about the janitor," he mumbled as he swallowed half the mug's contents in one long gulp.

"Oh yeah?"

Leylaani and the brothers leaned over the table, their interest piqued.

"Yeah, interesting guy it seems," Bobby replied; "he went to the school too, and he's the same age of our vics so he would have been at the school the same time as them.

"Uh-huh?" Sam prompted, "and?"

"Well, he arranged a reunion about a year ago," Bobby revealed; "the four dead guys and the fifth victim all went, along with a load of the other students from his time.

"Yeah?"

"So we need to keep an eye on them then," Leylaani observed, glancing around the table.

"Well, yeah, maybe," Bobby replied with a nod.

"It seems our janitor friend took the job straight from his time in the school, first as an assistant then took over as the janitor when the last one retired fifteen years ago," Bobby continued; "guy's never had another job."

"Sounds like he can't keep away, obviously enjoyed school so much," Dean observed drily. "Weirdo," he added under his breath.

Sam grinned; he felt sorry for any unfortunate teacher charged with the task of educating Dean. Dean's undeniably sharp mind was matched only by his hatred of academia.

"I don't think it's quite as simple as that," Bobby replied; "you see …"

"Wait a minute," Dean interrupted; "so what's this all got to do with those windy faerie things?"

Bobby glared across the table at him as Sam stifled a snigger behind his hand; "boy, if you'd just shut ya idjit piehole and let me finish, I'm gettin' to that."

Dean bowed his head, and had the decency to look admonished. He glanced over his shoulder at Leylaani sitting beside him and frowned as she giggled and stuck her tongue out at him; "they're called sylphs, dumbass," she spluttered through stifled laughter.

Dean grinned. "Whatever," he grunted with a defiant shrug.

Bobby shook his head in impatient resignation; "it sounds like our friend had a very difficult time during his time at that school, and beyond. Lots of issues."

"Issues?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah," Bobby confirmed; "apparently the poor guy had a major breakdown when he was a kid."

"That sucks," Sam glanced at Dean and Leylaani.

Bobby continued; "I've pulled up his psyche reports. He was in therapy for years, most of the way through high school and for years beyond, and the general consensus of all his shrinks was that he wouldn't be up to taking a job outside his comfort zone, in a place he didn't know, with people he didn't know, so he took the job at the school."

Bobby shuffled the mess of papers in front of his; "it sounds like he wasn't too good at making new friends, and it was felt it would do him more good to stay somewhere he felt secure."

"Poor guy," Leylaani murmured; "that's horrible."

Dean's brow knotted in thought; "Yeah, sad an' all, but I still don't see what all this has got to do with the faeri … sylphs."

Leylaani glanced knowlingly at Dean and smiled.

"I haven't told you the best part of the psyche reports yet," Bobby replied; "d'y know what caused our friend to flip his marbles."

Three pairs of eyes regarded him expectantly.

"when he was twelve he woke up one night screaming bloody murder. His parents thought it was a nightmare, but what he'd been screaming about that night, he always maintained it was the truth, despite all the therapy, treatments and counselling they put the poor kid through," Bobby explained solemnly, "look."

He pushed a piece of paper toward Sam, Dean and Leylaani. It took only a few moments for them to absorb the report's words, and three gasps rose from the table.

Bobby nodded; "yep, our friend is adamant that he was abducted by faeries."

xxxxx

A stunned silence hovered over the table for the longest time before Sam eventually spoke up.

"I've been looking into these things – these sylphs, and everything Leylaani said is right. There's not a scrap of lore out there that I found that says they're anything other than harmless," he sighed; "the books say they're happy, loving, spontaneous, playful, carefree, you could go on for ever … their life sounds idyllic. Nowhere does it say they go around slaughtering people and pushing them over cliffs," he slumped back into his seat. "Are they just too good to be true?" He hesitated; "or d'you reckon our janitor friend's controlling them?"

"Kind of a coincidence, don't ya think?" Bobby mused.

"But what about the victims?" Leylaani chipped in; "what have they got to do with any of this? Why those guys? Why the reunion? If this guy was abducted by faeries, wouldn't you think he'd be punishing them, not his old school mates."

"Well, I don' know about the rest of you, but I'm up for going and takin' a look at this school," Dean snorted impatiently, pushing the psyche reports back to Bobby, "and seeing what else we can find on this guy," he added; "something about this stinks."

"Of roses and lavender?" Sam grinned, staring pointedly at Dean.

"You're not funny," Dean replied, po faced; "just thought I ought to tell you, bitch."

"Anyway," interrupted Bobby, rolling his eyes in exasperation; "so is that the plan then? We visit the school?"

Sam, Dean and Leylaani all nodded in silent agreement.

"I tol' you," Dean announced; "faeries are freakin' bad news – even the happy clappy, smiley friggin' goody-two-shoes ones."

He cracked his knuckles in satisfaction; " I'm so gonna kick their faerie asses."

xxxxx

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

Raymond Brake pushed his overladen cleaning trolley across the deserted car park of North Ridge High School. Fall break had given him an opportunity to catch up on some much-needed housekeeping and maintenance. Despite his best efforts, the place was starting to look shabby; truly, a janitor's work was never done.

A short, wiry man, prematurely balding and old beyond his forty-two years, Brake carried an air of troubled awkwardness like a lead weight across his shoulders. A weight that only lifted during school breaks.

As well as valuable catch-up time, school breaks also gave him a rare period of precious solitude. Those were the only times when he felt able to relax; when he didn't have to ingratiate himself and pretend to enjoy being around others.

He was heading toward the science block to take a look at the leaking sink that everyone had been bitching about when a movement at the school gates caught his eye.

He looked up and, sure enough, three strangers were letting themselves through the gate. He sighed; what the hell did they want?

Abandoning his trolley, he walked hesitantly toward the uninvited guests. One of them, the one that caught Brake's eye, was a petite and beautiful dusky-skinned woman wearing impeccably styled hair and dressed in an elegant grey trouser suit. She was flanked by two sober-suited apes; bodyguards maybe?

"Yeah, whad'ya want?" he asked, nervously hanging as far away from the two imposing characters as he reasonably could.

"Good afternoon, sir," Leylaani began; "my name is Rachel Walsh and I'm from the State Health and Safety Inspectorate." She briefly flashed an ID card that didn't look like anything he'd seen before; "my colleagues and I are here to undertake an unannounced inspection of the premises."

The Winchesters nodded politely and muttered their greetings.

"Oh." He regarded them curiously; "ain't ever done one of those before, no-one said anything."

Leylaani leaned in toward him and lowered her voice as if sharing a secret; "that's why it's called an unannounced inspection," she whispered, trying not to smile as she pictured Dean rolling his eyes behind her.

"Y'know it's fall break," he replied sullenly, "no-one around here but me."

Leylaani nodded. "Yes sir, that's why we chose this week, we didn't want to disrupt the students' schedules."

"Yeah," Dean added smoothly; "so if you wouldn't mind letting us have a plan of the buildings and giving us the tour then we can go off and get on with our jobs, and get out of your hair."

Leylaani bit her lip as she averted her eyes from the man's barren crown and elbowed Dean in the stomach.

"I'll go an' get my keys," Brake turned and trudged away, gesturing to the little entourage of visitors to follow him.

"Did you smell something on him?" Leylaani whispered to the brothers as they dutifully followed their unwilling guide.

"What, aside from the cheap tobacco and lavatory cleaner?" Dean asked, making only a token effort to moderate his voice.

She shook her head; "mustard," she replied quietly.

Dean shrugged; "perhaps he's just had his lunch," he mused.

"No," she shook her head again; "not on his breath. It's around him – like a scent – almost as if he's carrying or wearing the stuff."

"There's only one reason why someone would do that," Sam interjected.

"To keep faeries away," Leylaani agreed; "it repels them like nothing else."

Sam nodded; "exactly," he replied.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she murmured to her companions, smiling sweetly as Brake held the school's main door open for them, eyeing them coldly as they walked through.

xxxxx

After a long and exasperatingly dull tour of innumerable classrooms, locker rooms, bathrooms, and science laboratories, together with a gymnasium and an industrial-sized, kitchen which only served to remind Dean of how hungry he was, all three hunters were becoming antsy with the lack of any meaningful clues, or opportunities to find them.

"This is the plant room in here," Brake explained, bringing the tour to yet another halt and unlocking a heavy metal door from the jangling knot of keys that hung on his belt. "This is where all the controls and workings for the heating, the plumbing, and the swimming pool are," he explained as he opened the door to a darkly forbidding room containing a tangle of pipes and valves which vibrated and rumbled along to the thrum of moving water and whirring machinery.

"I've got certificates to show that all the equipment's been recently serviced and inspected by the manufacturer…"

"That's great," Dean responded abruptly, only half listening as he stared into the room's humid, dank interior; "could you go and get them? We'll need to see them to – uh – check the serial numbers, if you wouldn't mind."

Sam watched as Brake trekked slowly away, casting a backward glance to his three visitors. He turned back to Dean; there was a coldness in Dean's eyes that Sam recognised. Dean didn't like Brake and his trouble radar was twitching wildly.

Peering into the gloom, Dean fumbled for a light switch. He hesitated; "hey Leylaani, why don't you wait out here and keep look out, we don't know what we're going to find in there, and with the noise from all this crap, we'll never hear Doctor Death coming back."

Leylaani shot him a withering look; "my hunt, my risks," she replied sharply. "Sam, keep a look out, and get in touch with Bobby," she added; "I know he said he'll wait in the Impala in case we needed to get away quickly, but we might need him better here."

Dean looked for one moment as if he was about to argue with Leylaani before grudgingly biting back his objection. It was her hunt, she made the rules.

The brothers exchanged glances, and Sam nodded reluctantly.

xxxxx

Dean and Leylaani slowly threaded their way through the room, scanning the tangled network of pipes which lined the walls, a large portion of the floor and even the ceiling; some at head height as Dean had abruptly and painfully learned.

His instincts were jangling. Although the room appeared to contain nothing of interest, he knew his instincts rarely let him down; they had saved his hide more times than he cared to remember. This room was wrong. He didn't know why, but something was very, very wrong.

They had inspected every shadowy corner of this place and found nothing. Leylaani, deflated with disappointment, was already making her way back out to join Sam, and Dean, without any valid reason to linger, reluctantly set out to follow her.

He paused, turning to scan the area one last time.

And that's when he saw it.

xxxxx

"Just a sec," he reached out and clutched Leylaani's arm, gently pulling her round to face where he was looking.

In the shadows along the back wall, a mass of pipework climbed the crumbling brickwork like iron creepers.

Beside it was a narrow filing cabinet.

It wasn't the filing cabinet that interested Dean, but the ground upon which it stood. Several scratches scarred the concrete around the foot of the cabinet. Long, sweeping scratches that suggested the cabinet had been moved recently, and more importantly, frequently.

Leylaani's eyes widened as she looked up to Dean and then back to the damaged floor.

Before she could say a word, Dean strode across the room and put his shoulder to the cabinet, moving it with ease. Once it was shifted, they slipped past it into the dim, narrow recess between the pipes and the wall. Leylaani's delicate frame had freedom to move in the tiny space with room to spare, but Dean found himself sandwiched tightly between the wall and the pipes, his chest pressed heavily against the brickwork to enable him to move along further into the claustrophobic gap.

"You need to lay off the burgers," Leylaani grinned, slipping her hand between Dean's body and the wall, giving his stomach a playful squeeze.

"Perhaps I just need more exercise," he winked at her.

At that moment, his forward progress was halted as his jacket snagged on something. Without any way of bending his head forward to look down, he manouevred himself to the side, and glanced sideways to see what had him hooked.

It was the corner of a small metal door.

xxxxx

Its bottom edge ran some six inches above ground level. It was, maybe, five feet high; punctured with narrow vents top and bottom, and Dean's first thought was that it was the door to some kind of space where a boiler or similar equipment that required substantial ventilation might be housed, or at least had once been.

Pointing his flashlight through the vents at the top of the door, Dean squinted into the dark space. The gaps were too tiny to be able to make sense of the fragmented shadows that he could see, and his lips tightened into a frustrated grimace.

"What is it?" Leylaani asked, swaying on tiptoes as she tried to stretch herself an infuriating extra couple of inches to be able to see through the slots.

"Don' know," Dean replied absently, "but it sure as hell isn't anything to do with plumbing."

Closer inspection showed the little door to be a sliding door, a locked sliding door.

It wasn't a locked sliding door for long once Dean had put his trusty lockpick to work and together with Leylaani he cautiously slid the door open. They both peered into the cramped, dark space behind it.

"What the hell?" Dean whispered.

xxxxx

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

Dean and Leylaani peered hesitantly into the musty void behind the surprisingly heavy metal door. Their flashlights cut through the impenetrable blackness, enabling them to just make out a confined, square space, no more than eight feet along each side; it could have been a large closet or a small room. Dean scanned the bare brick walls; dusty with neglect and stained with patches of velvety mould; their cobweb-coated surfaces were pockmarked with scratches and screw-holes, reinforcing Dean's original belief that this small, unwelcoming cubby-hole once contained some kind of machinery.

But all it seemed to contain now was a small table.

Leylaani stepped over the threshold into the tiny room, halting abruptly as she felt Dean's hand grip her arm.

"Don't," he muttered, motioning to pull her back; "let me …"

She gently shook her arm free of his grip; "Dean," she scolded softly; "my hunt!"

Dean huffed in exasperation and grudgingly allowed her to step forward. He stooped deeply to ease himself through the little door only a breath behind her. Maybe she didn't want him going all mama bear on her, but too bad; she was getting his back-up whether she wanted it or not.

They both stood inside the doorway and stared in silence down at the table. It was a cheap, metal-framed, laminated table, of the kind often found in schools and other large institutions. Its chipped, grey surface was bare apart from a single object.

That object was a large glass jar. It reminded Dean of one of those big jars that old fashioned sweets used to be sold by the quarter-pound from, but there were definitely no liquorice allsorts in this one.

They both stepped in cautious unison toward the table; their unblinking gaze fixed on the jar. It appeared to be empty except … they both leaned in, brows furrowed, staring intently through the flashlight beam into the jar's transparent depths.

They could see a faintly glowing wisp of vapour. It rippled and coiled within the cramped space that confined it, swirling and ebbing like a warm breath on a winter's morning. It was barely there, and yet at the same time, profoundly beautiful.

Dean turned to Leylaani who was still staring transfixed at the hypnotic motion of the ghostly, undulating haze.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

"It's beautiful," Leylaani whispered; "so beautiful."

"It's a sylph."

They both flinched, glancing up at a cold, reedy voice that came from a slight figure silhouetted in the doorway.

It was Brake.

xxxxx

Dean bristled, reaching behind him for the weapon tucked into his belt and stepped toward the interloper, but immediately stumbled to a stop. He reluctantly raised his hands mirroring Leylaani's own conciliatory gesture as Brake coolly pointed a handgun in their direction.

"Funny place for so-called health and safety inspectors to be snooping around," Brake observed drily, not expecting an answer and not getting one.

"Put your gun on the ground big guy," he hissed, gesturing toward Dean, but training his own gun on Leylaani. Dean scowled, never taking his eyes from Brake's threatening silhouette as he reached behind him to withdraw his gun and drop it on the ground at his feet, silently vowing to have his satisfaction when the moment was right.

"How'd you get in here?" Dean growled, as a cold fear that Brake had hurt Sam suddenly gripped him.

"You don't think that doorway out there that you left King Kong standing at is the only doorway into this room, do you?" Brake sneered in response, his silhouette shifting slightly as he leaned further into the room.

Dean's lip curled as he instinctively stepped in front of Leylaani, momentarily satisfied that Sam was unharmed.

xxxxx

Sam flexed his toes as he stood uneasily at the doorway and looked at his watch. Brake hadn't returned yet, but Sam didn't think for one moment that was a good sign. He didn't like the man; he couldn't put his finger on it but there was something unwholesome, something sinister about him. Something about Brake was wrong on so many levels.

He peered both ways along the deserted corridor. "C'mon Bobby," he prompted under his breath, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. He had decided to call the older man in from the Impala to join them; he didn't know why, but somehow he got the impression that an extra pair of hands and eyes would be useful, particularly when those eyes had just spent the last few days reading up on faerie lore.

As soon as Bobby turned up, Sam would head after Dean and Leylaani. He hoped that sinking feeling in his gut was down to nothing more threatening than Bobby's cooking, but somehow he knew he could never be that lucky.

He looked at his watch and scanned the corridor once again.

xxxxx

"You've got it trapped in here," Dean snarled, glancing between Brake and the sylph's glass prison.

"Yup," Brake replied casually.

"This must be torture for it," Leylaani's plaintive voice sounded as she stepped out from behind Dean; "it's a free spirited creature of sky and sunlight, a child of the west wind, and you've got it trapped alone in that horrible little jar with no room to move and no light, in a tiny room that no-one knows about."

"Yup," Brake repeated, without a hint of remorse.

"Those dead dudes," Dean snapped; "let me guess, you're controlling it in some way." He fumbled in his back pocket for his phone in the hope he could somehow sneak a text to Sam.

"Yup again," Brake replied, frowning as he caught a glimpse of the tiny glowing rectangle of Dean's phone screen; "an' don't bother texting your buddy out there, you won't get a signal in here."

Dean and Leylaani stood, staring helplessly down the gunbarrel pointed in their direction and Dean's mind whirled. He could barely feel the lingering ache from his various injuries, but if he could still feel them; that meant he wasn't at the top of his physical game. Would they slow him down? If Leylaani wasn't here, he'd take his chance; if he got shot, well, he got shot. It was no big deal. This creep was half his size, if he got a good start, he could take him down easily, but could he do that without putting Leylaani at risk?

His runaway train of thought was interrupted by Brake's nasal tones again.

"I went through hell at this damn place when I was a kid; five years of misery," he moaned. "I was bullied mercilessly by the other kids, even the teachers had no time for me, thought I was nuts; didn't want to waste their time on me."

Leylaani's eyes widened as she glanced up at Dean and then back to Brake; "bullies?" she repeated softly; "those men that died, you're taking out the ones that bullied you?"

"Got it in one pretty lady," Brake sneered; "and I haven't finished yet."

Dean's eyes narrowed; he was just beginning to make out the sullen frown which played across Brake's sour features as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he reflected on how good a fist, his fist particularly, would look planted into the middle of that face.

"Do you know why they bullied me?" Brake asked.

"Oh, we've done our homework," hissed Dean, sidling across the floor, subtly trying to put himself between Leylaani and the barrel of the gun again; "you were abducted by faeries - apparently."

"No apparently about it," Brake spat; "those freaky sonsofbitches took me. Three years they held me in their world; three goddamn years," his voice rose into a petulant whine.

"Why?" Dean snorted, "why the hell would they want to saddle themselves with a freakin' grudge-bearin' twisted sack of shit like you?"

The insult bounced off Brake like a raindrop. "They take humans for all sorts of reasons," he hissed; "sometimes for breeding, or for slavery or revenge. Sometimes they take human children for their own entertainment - to keep like pets; then they discard them back in our world when they start to grow and become too disruptive."

A brief silence hung dangerously in the air.

"That's what they did to me," Brake finally explained; "'cept when I got back, it was like I'd never been away, I hadn't grown or aged a day. I got back only a second after I'd left and no-one even knew I'd gone anywhere. When I spoke about it, everyone thought I was just a goddamn fruitloop."

His frown deepened; "if I thought my nightmare had ended when they brought me back, I was wrong, so wrong. It was only just beginning."

xxxxx

"Mr Brake," Leylaani spoke up gently from behind the solid wall of Dean's shoulders; "I am terribly sorry that you were bullied, really I am. That's something cruel and horrible that should never have to happen to anyone. But this …" she gestured to the jar and the rippling air currents within it; "… and the murders; doesn't that make you worse than those awful children that hurt you?"

Brake shrugged; "don't care," he grunted contemptuously; "revenge feels good." He continued, smiling mirthlessly; "they say it's a dish best served cold, and this is cold, so cold; oh man, how I've waited for this. See, the one good thing to come out of my abduction was that in the three years these freaks had me, I learned a fair bit about them, their ways and their magic."

Dean and Leylaani made no move to interrupt, so he continued.

"Since I came back, I've worked tirelessly to one aim: to have revenge on those bullies, and the bastard faeries who caused the whole problem in the first place." He licked dry lips, clenching his fingers around the doorframe to try to still the trembling in them. "So I took this job at the school all those years ago so I could get access to the archives – full of records of the kids who were in my sights; what they were going to do when they left school, where to find them ... it was a great ruse, no-one suspected anything; it was like letting a wasp loose in a candy store."

He pointed to the filing cabinet that Dean had earlier shifted to allow himself and Leylaani access to this door; "I picked out all the records I would need in the future, you know; when the time was right."

"But your psyche reports said you took the job because you weren't confident to go somewhere unfamiliar," Leylaani questioned cautiously.

"Yup," Brake nodded with an air of arrogant triumph; "those therapists will believe anything if you're convincing enough."

Dean and Leylaani exchanged apprehensive glances.

"So I've just been biding my time," Brake drawled; "pooling what I found out about the faeries in their world with what I could find out this side of the veil. It's taken me years and years but a while back, I finally found a way to capture and control one of the bastards." His shadowed face stretched into a righteous smirk; "I've got the damn thing on a tight leash, I can pull it's strings and make it dance." His eyes flickered toward the glass jar; "when I had my little weapon of mass destruction trapped right here where I wanted it, I used the information I'd collected to organise a reunion with as many of the guys I could still locate, and that night I got the lowdown on them all, even the ones who had moved on because they had all kept in touch with each other."

"But not with me," he added sourly.

"My god, that's what I call a well-balanced personality," Dean snorted contemptuously; "a chip on both shoulders."

"Dean," hissed Leylaani, nudging him sharply in the back.

"Tell me," Dean pointed to the jar on the table; "was it one of these sylph things that abducted you?"

"No," Brake answered with a lazy shrug.

"So why does it deserve to be treated like this?" Dean asked, gesturing sharply to the jar behind him.

Brake smiled horribly; "because it's happy," he stated simply; "it's so damn floaty and gentle and goddamn perfect. I said I wanted revenge on faeries for ruining my life. I don't care what type of faerie freak I hurt."

He waved the gun menacingly as he stared over Dean's shoulder toward the glass jar.

"Do you know what it does to these sylphs when you take one and force it to kill? To end life? To stare into the eyes of a dying man?"

The silence in response to his statement gave him his answer; "it crushes them," he finally stated with immense satisfaction; "it breaks their heart."

"You're sick, Leylaani yelled, tears welling in her eyes as Dean pulled her in close beside him.

"Maybe so," Brake grinned, pausing briefly; "but not as sick as you're both going to be very soon."

xxxxx

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

Dean knew that he had to act and he had to act fast. They now knew that had a full-on nutjob on their hands; this psycho had killed four people, and he and Leylaani were trapped in little more than a hole in the wall, all nice and cosy, alongside this man's weapon of choice.

He knew he couldn't attack Brake and protect Leylaani, but he also knew the time for bargaining and assessing the situation was over. Now Dean had to take action; he knew the woman behind him was strong in both mind and body and now he had to trust that she was as good at taking care of herself as she claimed to be.

He lunged for the doorway, fully expecting Brake to discharge his gun, but instead, the smirking man swiftly tugged the metal door, closing it on his trapped victims. With finely-honed reflexes, Dean just managed to reach one arm through the narrowing gap as it slid home, and groped blindly, trying to locate Brake's hand, or eyes or better still his throat. To Dean's dismay, Brake fought against him with surprising ferocity, pushing the heavy metal door harder and harder down onto Dean's arm, crushing it between the door's edge and the wall, until the pain and risk of a broken arm forced him to draw the errant limb back into the darkness, spitting a tirade of curses as the door slammed shut behind it.

Clutching his throbbing arm close against his side, Dean furiously hurled himself at the door again, throwing his full weight behind his shoulder. He could still hear Brake on the other side fighting to turn the key in the clattering door's lock; if only he could prevent that key from turning, there would be hope of an escape for them.

He rebounded off of the door with a hollow clang, stifling a grunt as his injured arm protested the abuse, but despite buckling under the furious assault, it held fast, and Dean's rage sank into despair as he heard the lock click home.

"Let us out you SONOFABITCH," he roared, bringing feet and fists to bear against the door, and finding nothing but unyielding metal for his trouble.

Leylaani tentatively reached out through the darkness for Dean's injured arm, but this time her closeness gave him no comfort.

xxxxx

Sam let out an involuntary sigh of relief as he saw Bobby striding along the deserted corridor toward him. Although it had taken the older man less than five minutes to make the journey from the Impala, which he had discreetly parked a block away, across campus and into the school's main building, all the while managing to remain unseen and unhindered, it seemed like a lifetime to Sam with his heightening sense of unease.

"Bobby," he muttered hoarsely, absently overlooking any kind of social niceties; "I got a really bad feeling; we need to find Dean and Leylaani - now."

Bobby nodded smartly, and gestured for Sam to lead the way.

xxxxx

Plunged into almost complette darkness, Dean and Leylaani's only sources of light came from the tiny vents along the top of the door and their flashlights whose harsh illumination picked out the faintest glow from the sylph as it drifted forlornly around its glass prison.

After the thundering mayhem of Dean's fury, suddenly the only sound that could be heard was the hollow scrape of boots against the concrete floor, and the quiet breaths of the two trapped hunters. That was until Leylaani spoke up.

"Dean!" she gasped; "Look."

They both stood and watched as the jar began to rock on the table, gently and slowly at first; a vaguely hypnotic rhythm like the swaying of a snake charmers flute, but the rattle of glass against table top grew louder and more rapid as the movement became faster and wilder.

Dean and Leylaani stepped back cautiously as the delicate wisp within the jar began to swirl until it was a vaporous blur, increasing in luminosity as it whirled fiercely around itself, it's soft glow becoming a dazzling glare.

"This can't be good" Dean muttered under his breath.

xxxxx

Suddenly they both recoiled as the lid of the jar flew off, hurled upwards as if riding a geysir, and smashed into smithereens against the ceiling, showering the occupants with a rain of glass shards.

Now the little dark room was flooded with a blinding, whirling white light and a relentless, deafening shriek which sounded uncomfortably like the scream of a tormented woman as much as the howling of a violent gale. Dean and Leylaani dropped to their knees on the floor, trying to be as small as possible under the terrifying onslaught.

Round and round it tore; a furious tumult, racing around the confined space, spinning faster and faster until it was little more than a whirling, churning vortex of crystal-bright light above the table. Helplessly overpowered, Dean could feel his chest constricting in a cold, fearful anticipation. Blindly, he reached out through the gloom to Leylaani, pulling her in close toward him.

The bolt of fear that drilled down through Dean's heart intensified as he began to feel his breath becoming shorter; each harsh, shallow breath being torn from his lungs with painful effort. He could feel Leylaani's hunched body pressed against him, heaving grotesquely as she fought the same struggle for breath. Looking down through the gloom, he could see her staring up at him, bug-eyed in fear and desperation. She gaped, goldfish-like, for air, trying to beg for help; trying to speak Dean's name, but no sound came.

He began to wheeze, his heart hammering against his ribs as he realised what was happening. This thing wasn't creating a powerful wind to hurt and destroy as it had for the other victims; it was sucking all the air out of this room; the little vents along the top of the door meaning nothing to this frightened, exploited creature who had complete mastery over its natural element.

They were going to suffocate right here and now in this dark, airless hole, and there was nothing Dean could do to prevent it.

xxxxx

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

Brake stood outside the door, a smirk stretched across his thin lips. He squinted through the vents in the small metal door, watching intently through the darkness as the terrible events unfolded within the chamber behind it. Those two people, whoever they were, were curled up, gasping pathetically for air as their precious oxygen was taken away from them.

He took a deep, satisfying breath of the air that was being denied his victims and silently congratulated himself on a job well done.

As their oxygen ran out, their lungs would begin to constrict giving them a few moments of perfect agony before unconsciousness released them into merciful oblivion.

That would teach them to interfere with his plan; his beautiful revenge.

He was concentrating so hard on admiring his handiwork, he didn't hear careful footfalls approach behind him, surprisingly light for one so big having to manoeuvre in a space so small. He didn't see the shadow that loomed up over him either. But he did feel the butt of the handgun that smashed into the back of his skull, instantly sending him into the oblivion he was gleefully planning for his trapped victims

xxxxx

The already limited vision that Dean had in the gloom and the blackness was fading. His chest burned, feeling like it was tearing itself apart from the inside as his body cried out for air; every forlorn gasp felt like he was inhaling molten steel. Heart pounding furiously, his desperate breaths had become nothing more than empty, twisting spasms.

Dean was vaguely aware that Leylaani had gone silent; her body slumped limply against his, but he couldn't see her. All he could see was crackling spots of light on the periphery of his sightless eyes; a deathly firework display against the black backdrop of his predicament - a trick of an oxygen–starved mind. Dean guessed that those specks of light would probably be the last thing he would ever see; and that kinda sucked.

He could no longer hear the shriek of the frantic sylph. Everything was drifting, ebbing and flowing like the song of a rising tide; although they were trapped in a tiny room, the sound was muffled and distant, drifting over them from a million miles away, receding along with his waning consciousness.

Gradually, his unseeing eyes slipped closed. His mouth yawned one last, long fruitless gasp, and everything began to shut down.

His jaw slackened, no longer trying to drag in absent air. The fire in his chest had gradually faded, leaving just softly smouldering embers. Dean's world became dark, silent stillness; with Leylaani in his arms.

It felt surprisingly good.

xxxxx

It was therefore with a mixture of alarm and disappointment that he suddenly felt a harsh thump to his chest. It echoed through him like a drum, and was followed by Sam's choking voice above him; "Dean, c'mon, breathe dammit, breathe."

A heavy presence fell across his face, tightening around his lips and he felt his chest swell, filling with sweet, warm air. He flinched as something hard and powerful began to pound relentlessly on his sternum, and it hurt; oh man, it hurt.

But then it stopped. Dean would have breathed a sigh of relief if he'd been able to. Something soft and intensely annoying was tickling his face, and, grimacing, he tried to rock his head away from it, only to have some great heavy ham-fist tug his head back upright and pinch his nose in an iron grip. The same presence, heavy and stiflingly warm, covered his face again, and another strong gust of sweet warm air was forced into his starved lungs.

He suddenly convulsed in shocking, paralysing pain as his heart leapt back into action and beautiful life-giving oxygen began to flood around his body. Yawning a despairing gasp, his back arched violently and he flailed briefly, head rocking from side to side in voiceless panic as he tried to make sense of his surroundings, blurred and unfamiliar through nauseously swimming vision.

"Dean, oh thank God," Sam's voice cracked over a harsh sob as he sat back on his haunches, and forcefully rolled Dean over onto his side.

As Dean's eyes gradually drifted back into focus, he began to realise what had happened. He had been brought back by Sam. Sam, who had knelt there beside Dean's lifeless body, frantically blowing great gusts of his own air into Dean's empty lungs and pumping life back into his heart with those great big, bruising sasquatch hands of his. Sam, who had worked tirelessly until he had brought Dean back from the brink, as if failure wasn't even an option to consider.

Dean lay still for a moment, panting softly as his aching, shocked body began to relax under his brother's comforting touch. He could feel the crumpled jacket that had been folded up beneath his head, infused with Sam's faint scent. He could hear Sam speaking softly, but he had no idea what the words were; that voice was all he needed to hear to know that everything was going to be okay.

Finally, Dean's mind began to catch up with the rest of him. He gathered his wits and made shaky attempt to sit up, scratching his nose to relieve the lingering itch left by Sam's shaggy bangs as he did so.

Reaching out, Sam's long arms circled Dean's shoulders, and helped him up, pulling him back to lean against his own body. Dean felt his brother's flat palm, come to rest over his tender, bruised chest, a subconscious reassurance that he could still feel the heartbeat that had been so terrifyingly absent for those awful moments.

"Thank god," the words were choked out through clenched teeth; "we thought you were gone dude." Sam inhaled shakily as he tried to compose himself.

Dean glanced around him from his vantage point tucked underneath Sam's chin, to see that he had been dragged out of their small, dark prison, and was laying on the floor in the corridor. Behind the wall of pipes he could just see the mangled remains of the metal door and a pair of feet laying spread-eagled across the floor.

Brake.

"He's dead dude," Sam explained softly; "I dropped him with the butt of the gun, but Bobby said that even though that sylph thing flew away after we got the door open, once he came round, he'd still have control of it." He hesitated momentarily; "so we had to …" Sam glanced absently down at the gun lying spent on the floor beside him.

Dean coughed miserably, "S-sa … s …" He interrupted, determined to excuse Sam from having to relive the terrible thing he'd been forced to do.

"Shhh, don't talk, Dean, just breathe," Sam reassured, rubbing the abused planes of Dean's chest; "get it back under control. The ambulance is on it's way."

A brief silence fell between the two, punctuated only by Dean's harsh breaths, each one like heavenly music to Sam's ears.

xxxxx

"Sam," Bobby's voice spoke up abruptly from behind them.

Sam turned round toward the voice, and Dean stiffly followed his gaze toward Bobby who knelt hunched over Leylaani's body as it lay motionless on the floor before him.

Dean tensed as a bolt of panic tore through him; his mind had been so addled, he hadn't even remembered she was there.

Bobby looked back across to Sam, his distraught face somehow managing to look a worse shade of nauseous grey than Dean's.

"Where's that goddamn ambulance," he croaked; "I can't … she's not breathing …"

The brothers saw a veil of tears form over the older man's eyes.

"I think she's gone."

xxxxx

tbc


	12. Chapter 12

Tense as a coiled spring, Dean sat testily allowing a nervous young doctor to check him over. His legs hung over the side of the gurney, twitchy and high-strung; primed to bolt at a moment's notice.

At Sam and Bobby's insistence, Dean had submitted reluctantly and ingraciously to an examination; but he wasn't interested in taking deep breaths, or blowing into tubes and he sure as hell couldn't care less that his blood-pressure was slightly elevated.

He was haunted by the image of Leylaani lying there; a lifeless sprawl of limbs, grey-faced and motionless as she was loaded into the back of the ambulance. He would never forget the devastation that was written all over Bobby's face; nor the bland masks of tight-lipped neutrality the paramedics had adopted for the benefit of the three men.

Dean was an old hand at giving and receiving bad news, and he knew damn well when someone was hiding it.

Letting out a shaky sigh, he scraped cold fingers through his hair and just hoped with every fibre of his being that in this one instance, his bad news radar was as disorientated through oxygen starvation as the rest of him was.

He prayed he was wrong.

xxxxx

Back at the school, Sam had spun the paramedics some lame yarn to keep them off his back.

Dean hadn't really been paying attention, but in his vaguely conscious state, he'd heard something about hearing a scream as they were driving by, and going into the school to investigate. He heard Sam ramble on about the cries of a trapped woman and a brief explanation of how Dean had squeezed himself behind the pipework and broken open the little door to help her because Sam was too big and Bobby's old knees weren't up to anything that strenuous.

When Sam had moved onto the explanation of when Brake had found them, how the janitor had slammed the door shut behind Dean, then deployed a carbon dioxide fire extinguisher through the door vents into the cramped space to void the oxygen, that's when Dean had given up listening.

He knew the story sucked ass; Sam knew it too. It was full of more holes than Bobby's favourite socks, but it was the best Sam could come up with on the spot and in a state of panic. In truth none of the three men wanted to be around to justify themselves when the law came sniffing round, but right now, they'd deal with that particular problem when, or if it arose. Right now, law or no law, Dean wasn't going anywhere because Leylaani needed him; she needed all of them.

Dean's face fell into a frown. Leylaani needed him; she was fighting for her life and here he was wasting time with some stupid doctor who looked like he'd only graduated yesterday telling him that he wanted to hook him up to an ECG because of his elevated heart rate.

Well, Doctor Douche could stick his ECG where the sun didn't shine because Dean was going to find Leylaani. His heart rate was elevated, genius, because if he didn't find out how she was soon, he was going to throw a goddamned freakin' fit.

Shrugging off the doctor's wandering hands, he hopped down off the gurney and aggressively tugged his T shirt back on over his head, insincerely thanking the bemused man for his help and dutifully promising that he'd return if things went south.

He snatched up his jacket and was gone before the startled medic had even opened his mouth to argue.

xxxxx

As he strode down the corridor toward the main ER reception, he caught sight of Sam's tall figure silhouetted against the hospital's sunlit windows. It loomed over the other heads in the area, and Dean eagerly set off toward it. As he drew near, Sam seemed to sense his approach and glanced up toward him.

Dean's stride faltered and he froze.

Sam stared at him, his face unashamedly wet, blank red-rimmed eyes awash with tears.

Oh hell, no.

Dean's blood ran cold, and he broke into a run.

"Sam?"

"Dean, you okay man?" Sam managed a faint smile on seeing his brother up and active, but his voice cracked miserably, wordlessly imparting news that Dean hoped desperately not to hear.

Dean didn't even attempt to answer Sam's question; "Leylaani - is she ...?" he gasped, barely pausing for breath.

Sam's chin trembled and he looked down at his feet, fighting to compose himself; "uh, she … uh …"

Bobby stepped up behind him, and placed a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"She didn't make it;" Bobby stated flatly, his eyes looking suspiciously shiny; "the paramedics did everything they could, but she was too far gone. There was nothing they could do for her."

He cleared his throat noisily, briefly turning away from the brothers and palming his cheek; "m'sorry son," he croaked.

xxxxx

Dean stared helplessly at the two men and shook his head silently. He felt paralysed; he couldn't even blink. If that freakin' Doctor came back with his stupid ECG now, the only thing it would record would be the sounds of Dean's heart shattering into tiny pieces.

"No, they've a m-mistake," he stammered; "it's gotta be a mistake ... tell them to check again."

Sam looked up at Dean and sniffed wetly; "I wish it was," he whispered.

"We've been waitin' for ya," Bobby spoke up, taking Dean gently by the elbow, trying not to notice how the elder Winchester's whole body had begun to tremble; "they said we could go and see her; you know, if you wanted to pay your respects."

Too stunned to argue, Dean followed Sam, meekly allowing himself to be guided along to a treatment room by Bobby's firm but sympathetic hand.

A middle-aged nurse with a well-schooled expression of sympathy opened the door and gestured them inside, and Dean felt himself shut down. He felt numb.

xxxxx

Leylaani was lying like a porcelain doll in the middle of a bed, her slender hands laying limply across her waist. She was dressed in the crisp white blouse she had put on that morning, and covered with a white sheet. Dean stared at her, taking in every detail of her tranquil face; pale as ivory and framed by a halo of shining black hair splayed loosely around her shoulders. He drunk in her beauty like a man dying of thirst.

Dean felt his eyes begin to burn and he felt the tickle of a tear as it rolled down the side of his nose. he made no effort to hide it. Beside him, Sam sniffed again and wiped his nose across the cuff of his shirt.

This was a travesty; an insult to everything that was right in the world. Leylaani had been so full of life, of energy; a delicate, vivacious flower that brightened the world around it wherever it took root. Her sweetly musical laugh, and her irrepressible sense of mischief was like a beacon in a dark place.

Dean managed a shaky smile as he thought of her sparkling brown eyes, warm as chocolate, deadly as a thousand armies. They had ensnared him the moment he had first looked into their swirling depths all that time ago at Mau Loa.

Now those beautiful eyes were closed forever. The thought was too painful to imagine.

Another tear rolled off the end of his nose, and he felt Sam's hand grip his shoulder gently in a subtle gesture of support. He reached up and covered Sam's hand with his own to return the token.

Biting his lip hard, Dean forced himself to hold it together. There would be time later on to howl and rage against the world; against that twisted sonofabitch Brake; to torture himself over whether he could have done more to protect her; to grieve. But this was Leylaani's time and she deserved better than for Dean to fall apart into an anguished wreck of fury and recrimination. He pulled in a deep breath and closed his eyes as he tried to ground himself.

Looking across at Bobby, he saw the older man standing, head bowed, his face wet in silent contemplation. A living embodiment of dignity and respect, giving Leylaani exactly what she deserved.

Tenderly picking up her delicate hand, Dean tried not to think about how cold it felt; he clasped it in his two hands, as if he were trying to warm it and closed his eyes, relishing the contact. Death had faded the rich mocha tones of her skin to an almost ethereal pallor giving her the appearance of a beautiful fairytale princess, merely sleeping an eternity of enchanted sleep.

But there was no kiss that could wake her from this sleep.

xxxxx

As the three men stood in their silent grief none of them noticed the sheet flutter softly across the foot of the bed as if lifted by a faint breeze.

xxxxx

tbc


	13. Chapter 13

It was Sam who felt the draught first. At first it didn't register with him, but then he felt it; the the faintest of touches, barely more than a breath, fluttering around his pants leg.

Wiping his eyes to clear his vision, he looked down and noticed the white sheet which hung off the end of the bed trembling softly like a leaf in a breeze.

Glancing around absently, he scanned the room, musing quietly to himself. The softly lit space was small and windowless, and there seemed to be no obvious source of the draught, except for a narrow air vent in the wall behind him. He lost himself for a moment staring at the small dusty grid on the wall, letting his mind zone out and his sore eyes drift out of focus, momentarily numbing the grief of losing Leylaani by staring at the most dull, mundane thing he could find.

xxxxx

"Are we borin' you?"

Sam snapped back into the here and now and turned smartly to see Dean's wet face, haggard with grief and drained of all colour, glaring furiously at him.

"What? N-no," Sam stuttered. He mentally scolded himself; one of the most beautiful people to have ever graced their lives was lying dead before them, and here he was thinking about air conditioning.

"Sorry man, it's just I …"

As his words trailed away, he saw the unruly spikes of hair on top of Dean's head ruffle as if someone was running unseen fingertips through it.

Still maintaining his grip on Leylaani's hand, Dean reached up, and ran his free hand through his disturbed hair; "what the hell …" he mumbled.

"Boys," both Winchesters turned as they heard Bobby speak up. He was standing staring at Leylaani's lifeless body with a look of horrified concern across his gaunt face.

"I think we've got company," he whispered.

Looking closely, the brothers saw a fine mist, barely more than a heat haze hovering over Leylaani's head and shoulders. It undulated and flickered, wafting gossamer-soft through her jet-black hair, lifting it softly from her shoulders.

"It's the sylph," whispered Sam, his face a mixture of horror and fascination; "it's gotta be. It must have got in through that air vent."

Dean's face darkened into a mask of molten fury.

"Get the hell away from her you freaky faerie bitch," he snarled, lashing out and swinging an arm through the fine vapour, dispersing it like cobwebs riding a summer breeze; "ain't you done enough damage already?"

He lashed out again, cursing the furies of hell down on the creature; his irate frustration turning to rage as the soft mist curled harmlessly around his flailing arm, seemingly unharmed and undisturbed by his assault.

Sam glanced behind him apprehensively. With Dean kicking up a storm like this, he could foresee a very real possibility of them getting thrown out of the hospital. He reached out in a hesitant attempt to offer some kind of comfort and solace to his brother only to have his hand irritably shrugged away.

In the end, it was Bobby's voice that served to placate Dean's outburst.

"Wait," he barked sharply.

Dean froze at Bobby's sharp voice; "what?" he snapped.

"Leave it," the older man replied cautiously; "remember what Leylaani said about these things being good? I might be wrong, but I think it's trying to help."

Dean's face and clenched fists suggested that he didn't share Bobby's opinion, but in deference to the older man he dutifully stepped away from the gently swirling vapour as it drifted lazily over the contours of Leylaani's lifeless face.

The three men watched, breathless anticipation building within them until they saw it; a tiny flicker of eyelashes.

Then another.

The shimmering haze suddenly lifted, floating up toward the ceiling and as it did so, Leylaani suddenly gasped; her grey lips stretching into a wide 'O' as she pulled in a long, urgent breath.

Letting out an involuntary sob of joyful relief, Dean dropped to his knees beside the bed and took up her hand again, pulling it toward his face and planting a kiss across the knuckles. Sam crouched down beside him, his heart pounding in exhilaration.

Her eyes flickered open, and her head tilted slowly to the side to face the brothers.

It took a moment for recognition to register, but when her eyes focussed on the two watery smiles looking down on her, a return smile of pure joy crossed her lips.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but emotion stole his words and he replied by simply pressing her hand against his face, savouring the contact, immersing himself in it.

Sam laid a comforting arm across Dean's back, and just smiled in silent elation.

xxxxx

Bobby took up Leylaani's free hand and glanced up to the ceiling, discreetly wiping his eyes. There was no obvious sign that the sylph was still in the room, but Bobby silently thanked it nonetheless.

It took a few minutes before Leylaani had recovered enough to speak. Her skin was still deathly pale, and had yet to regain the soft warmth of life and vitality that the brothers had come to know and love, but there was a sparkle in those dark eyes as they gazed up at Dean. In fact he would have been prepared to swear that there was an almost crystalline brightness about them. Something otherworldly that enchanted and mesmerised him; rendering him powerless to look away.

"Dean," she whispered softly.

Dean clutched her hand and kneaded it gently as he tried to compose himself enough to reply.

"Hey," he croaked, palming his face; "welcome back."

She looked up to see Sam's face, awash with tears and let out a soft giggle. It was the sweetest music to the Winchesters' ears.

Turning to Bobby, she reached up and stroked the back of her fingers across his beard. He smiled broadly, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath to compose himself.

But as her cold fingers grazed his cheek, his smile faded.

xxxxx

"We should get the doctor in here," Sam mused aloud.

"No," Leylaani replied, her voice strangely lilting, but stronger than a moment ago; "no doctor," she stated bluntly.

Dean's eyes narrowed as he regarded her. He knew that the mysterious injuries and ailments resulting from their line of work often precluded orthodox medical treatment, but at the same time, he was beginning to feel concerned. Leylaani was still pale; so much so, her skin seemed to have taken on an almost silvery sheen, she almost glowed under the diffused fluorescent light that hummed quietly above them. Through her hand which gripped his as tightly as he gripped hers back, Dean could feel the thrum of the young woman's pulse, so fast, it was barely a pulse, more of a continuous vibration, as if Leylaani's entire body was alive with crackling electricity.

Against his better judgement, Dean shook his head; "please let us get the doctor," he glanced up at Sam then back at Leylaani, his eyes pleading."

He stared into her eyes, swirling and depthless; shimmering with an ethereal light that was almost dazzling.

She smiled, and slid her hand free of his, reaching up to cup his face instead.

"Please," she whispered, there was an urgency, bordering on fear in her voice; "no doctor; I just need you to take me outside."

She looked up in turn at the concerned faces of the three men standing around her.

"I need to see the sky."

xxxxx

tbc


	14. Chapter 14

A pall of silence, thick and suffocating like gathering stormclouds, hung over the room. Crushed by the sense of oppressive dread, Sam and Bobby exchanged fearful glances, neither of them daring to say the words that they were both thinking.

Oblivious to the unspoken conversation beside him, Dean crouched beside the bed, trying with all his might to reassure and comfort the tiny figure lying on it who was becoming increasingly distressed.

She fretted and shivered nervously, her pretty face stretched into a tight rictus of increasing pain and fear.

Both Bobby and Sam could see that Dean was becoming frantic.

"Baby, please," he groaned, carding fingertips through her hair; "you're scaring me – please tell me what's wrong."

"Please," she pleaded pitifully; "I can't be shut in here, please;" the fear, the desperation was plain in her eyes, and it all but tore the three men to pieces.

"Take me outside; I need to see the sky," she whispered, her voice cracking into a sob.

Dean bit his lip and glanced wet-eyed up to Sam and Bobby, to see Bobby offer an encouraging nod.

"Okay," he whispered; "if that's what you want."

Sam cleared his throat and stepped toward Dean, taking him by the arm, and gently walking him a step away from the bed.

"Dean," he whispered, "we can't just take someone who was," he hesitated; "well, dead, five minutes ago and walk out of hospital with them; we gotta think this through."

Dean's eyes narrowed, and he aggressively shook his arm free of Sam's grasp.

"Let those sonsofbitches out there try an' stop me," he growled.

"Okay," Bobby spoke up with a sigh. He patted Leylaani's shoulder gently and walked over toward Sam; "c'mon Sam, lets you an' me go and have a chat with a couple of these medics."

Sam nodded knowlingly at the hidden meaning of Bobby's words; create a diversion.

xxxxx

Dean stood helplessly beside the bed and watched Sam and Bobby go, doing his best to reassure Leylaani with a soothing touch and gentle voice; she, in turn, seemed to be pacified by his presence.

He stared helplessly down at the frail shadow that had once been the tiny powerhouse that he had grown to know and love.

Where once there had been indefatigueable spirit, there was now a heartbreaking helplessness; where once there had been warm petal-soft skin, the colour of sweet, rich cappuccino, there was now skin so cold and so pale it shimmered with an otherworldly patina that seemed to glow under the dilatory light of the hospital room; where once there had been eyes of rich cocoa brown that twinkled with laughter and mischief there were now two inpenetrably black, shimmering pools of liquid jet, as inscrutable as the night sky.

Dean was at once mesmerised and haunted by what he saw.

"Please," she whispered, "I don't think I can walk, Dean, please help me."

Dean managed a watery smile and nodded, pulling in a deep breath to compose himself as he stood on shaky legs.

Stooping deeply, he slipped his arms under her back and legs, and braced himself to lift her unsubstantial weight.

As he lifted, he gasped; her petite body felt weightless. Although the young woman had always been a featherweight, it suddenly felt like Dean was lifting cotton candy; a delicate thing of no substance at all. As he cradled her tightly in his arms, he clumsily wrapped the sheet around her, and managed a shaky smile as she nestled down into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Okay, I gotcha," he reassured, whispering through clenched teeth; "gettin' you out of here."

Dean wasn't sure, but he thought he remembered seeing an external door almost opposite the small room where Leylaani had been laid out. It couldn't be that easy, surely?

As he sidled cautiously out of the room and into the corridor, he realised with a sense of overwhelming relief that it was. Right in front of him was a fire exit. Looking to his right, Dean could see that Sam and Bobby, the awesome superstars, had accosted a young doctor, and were both engaging him, back to the door, in an animated conversation, complete with impatient arm-waving and exasperated huffing, thus blocking access to the corridor for anyone else.

Dean made a mental note to thank them when – if – this was all over.

In less than three strides, he had crossed the corridor, elbowed the fire exit open and was crossing the hospital grounds towards the parking lot, complete with his precious bundle.

Pressed against him, he could feel Leylaani's entire body thrumming, as if an unseen power was building within her, pulsing and trembling like something massive, something inevitable; a force of nature. And it scared him, it scared him so much.

Over Bobby's shoulder Sam had seen Dean's rapid escape, and gestured wordlessly to Bobby.

"… so, we'll be back later," snorted Bobby to the quivering doctor; "an' when we do, you tell the clowns in charge of this place, we'll want some answers …"

The shell-shocked doctor nodded mutely, and scurried away as the two men turned and strode smartly toward the exit.

xxxxx

In the parking lot, Dean hurried across to the Impala. Fumbling one-handed with the key, he unlocked the doors and eased Leylaani into the back seat. He worked urgently, well aware they had to get away from this place as soon as possible. Leylaani's disappearance could be discovered any moment.

He leaned into the car. "Where d'y want to go?" he asked gently, cradling Leylaani's trembling face and forcing a shaky smile.

Looking up at him, she pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, and hesitated; savouring the air, almost tasting it. The haunted, fearful look that had filled her eyes back in the hospital room had gone, replaced by something else hiding there in those swirling depths; something that looked very much like relief.

"The hills," she replied cryptically; "over there …" she pointed toward a ridge of distant rolling hills along the smoky horizon.

"The hills?"

She nodded rapidly; "please," she smiled, but there was a hint of desperation to the smile. Dean hesitated a moment before leaning further into the car and pressing a kiss to ivory pale lips. He inhaled deeply, trying to locate a trace, just the merest hint, of Leylaani's essence; her sweetly fragrant perfume, the warm, soothing taste of her clean, soft skin, her apple-flavoured lipgloss.

Instead he found the taste of cool summer rain, the scent of sweet meadow grass; and fresh, clean air. It was pure and clean and beautiful … and utterly inhuman.

And it was at that moment that he realised his Leylaani was gone forever.

xxxxx

tbc


	15. Chapter 15

Dean was making his way round to the drivers' seat when Sam and Bobby rushed out to meet him.

"C'mon let's get going," Bobby gasped breathlessly, glancing behind him nervously; "they're going to discover she's missing right about now."

Dean nodded and opened the driver's door; "we need to go to those hills," he announced to the two men, pointing toward the horizon.

Sam wordlessly took the keys from Dean, and gestured to the back seat; "I'll drive," he stated economically and squeezed Dean's shoulder reassuringly; "she needs you."

Dean relinquished the keys without argument and within seconds, the Impala had sped away.

xxxxx

They had travelled some distance, and Leylaani was beginning to fret again within the confines of the Impala's crowded interior. Holding her close, Dean forlornly watched her, every nuance of her delicate face which was growing paler almost to translucence with each passing moment, wishing his embrace could bring some comfort.

"What happened back there in the hospital?" he asked, needing to break the apprehensive silence as much for his own sake as for Leylaani's; "what's going on, please tell me …"

Leylaani turned and gazed up at him. Her eyes, midnight black, regarded him warmly. "It was the sylph," she eventually replied.

Dean nodded; "I guessed that, did she do this to hurt you?"

"No," Leylaani shook her head urgently, "not at all. She wanted to atone for the wickedness she had been forced to do," she explained quietly; "we rescued her from so long trapped that dark, cramped room, compelled to do the most unspeakable, terrible things. It was an unimaginable torment for her." Leylaani's eyes closed and she smiled softly; "we freed her, Dean; we saved her. A sylph is fresh air and sky; she's movement and wanderlust and constant motion. She should be free; needs to be free."

"She brought you back to life?" Dean asked hesitantly, wishing fervently that it could be the case.

Leylaani cocked her head quizzically.

"You died," Dean continued, choking on the words as he struggled to compose himself; "that twisted sonofabitch Brake, he made that thing - that sylph - suffocate you. We couldn't save you."

Leylaani smiled, her hand reaching up to stroke Dean's cheek, silently indicating her relief that he was unharmed.

"Faerie folk don't have the power to reverse mortality;" she replied; "all she could do was infuse me with her own life force."

Bobby glanced over his shoulder into the back of the car. He knew perfectly well what that meant.

Leylaani looked down at herself; "this body is spent," she explained gently; "it's broken beyond repair, but she has given me the chance to live another way," she smiled; "to live forever."

"She's made you into one of her kind?" Bobby's voice cut the silence.

Leylaani nodded.

"No," Dean shook his head, "there's gotta be a way to reverse this," he groaned, trying to pull Leylaani's increasingly insubstantial form in closer toward him. He reached up gently to grasp the hand that stroked his face and gasped as he realised he could see through the fingertips.

"There isn't," Leylaani replied, her voice barely more than a breath; "if we reverse this, I go back to being an empty meatsuit lying on that slab in the hospital."

Dean shook his head, a stray tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down his cheek. "Don't say that," he choked; "don't you talk like that."

"Dean, you said you couldn't save me," Leylaani whispered, her fingers softly brushing a stray tear from his cheek; "but you were wrong. You freed the sylph and that prompted her to help me before it was too late."

Dean stared at her quizzically.

"you've saved me in every way it's possible to save a person. Your actions have given me joy and sunlight and freedom. Forever."

"But …"

She placed a kiss on his lips, her expression suddenly growing sad; "I only wish you could join me."

xxxxx

Sam had parked the Impala at the bottom of a remote, open hillside. Striding through layers of shifting amber leaf-fall, Dean had carried Leylaani as they made their way to the crown of the hill.

They regarded the windswept landscape. Miles of unbroken grassland, littered here and there with the red and gold detritus of fall, shimmering and swaying around them. Behind them a copse of mature oaks whispered and sighed as they shed their leaves in the dancing breezes.

Leylaani looked around herself; at the open hilltop, and at the three men standing beside her.

"Thank you," she whispered, a radiant smile lighting up the diaphanous lines of her face; she spread her arms and stood taller than she had ever looked before, new-found strength pouring into her as she soaked up her natural element.

Dean stood helpless, flanked by Sam and Bobby. He knew Leylaani was a sylph now, that there was no going back, all he could do now was let her go.

Let her go home.

He could feel the faint aches from his lingering injuries, but they were nothing compared to the pain in his heart as he watched Leylaani's elegant outline gradually fading from view, drifting away from him. He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath, biting his lip as the tears burned.

Beside him, Sam sniffled miserably, palming his wet cheeks whilst Bobby stood still and silent, head bowed as if in prayer.

"I'll come and watch over you Dean," she whispered; "when you feel the wind in your hair, it'll be me teasing you; when you feel the first breeze of summer, it'll be my hands keeping you cool; and when you feel the raindrops on your face, "she hesitated, the soft, melodic tinkle of her voice cracking slightly; "that will be my tears ... because I'll always miss you."

She blew a kiss toward the three bereft figures as she finally faded from sight. Her clothes dropped to the ground, leaving nothing but a faint glow of energy rippling and coiling softly in the breeze.

They watched, open mouthed, as her light suddenly soared into the beyond; a beautiful arc of light; the facets of a million diamonds sparkling against a cornflower-blue sky, leaving a shocked pigeon flapping clumsily in a shower of feathers through her slipstream.

Bobby and the Winchesters stood mesmerised, watching as she was joined by other sylphs who danced and swooped exuberantly, greeting their new friend with jubilant celebration.

It was at once the saddest and the most joyful thing Dean had ever seen.

xxxxx

They stood for the longest time; long after the sylphs had disappeared, just looking into the great empty expanse of the sky. Watching a world that seemed to have been unveiled anew for them.

They watched the dusk gradually begin to creep over the horizon, painting the bleak hilltop with its grey brush and inhaled the fragrance of pine and sap which rode the cooling breezes along with other loamy scents of fall.

Wordlessly they watched darkening clouds tumble across an amber sunset, lengthening their shadows as twilight began to creep over the hillside.

It was Bobby who eventually turned to leave.

Dean felt a hand press into the small of his back offering both support and encouragement; "y'okay son?" Bobby asked quietly.

Dean nodded hesitantly. He glanced across to Sam and offered a faint smile, receiving one in return as the three men turned to begin the walk back down the hill to the Impala.

As they left, Dean couldn't resist one lingering look to the horizon. The last trace of the sun's bronze disc was about to disappear behind it, making way for the moon and the first stars to peek through dusk's shadowy veil.

Dean looked up and smiled.

The sun, the moon, the stars; they could all look down and weep …

There was a brighter light in the sky now.

And it rode the west wind.

xxxxx

end


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